


Like a Wound That's Open

by waitingforjudas



Series: Judas' Kinktober 2019 [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Begging Dean Winchester, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dubious Consent, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean Winchester, Size Queen Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforjudas/pseuds/waitingforjudas
Summary: Dean loves Cas—but he doesn’t want Cas to know that. When Dean goes into heat, and his bag is switched with Castiel’s—who’s at the bunker—Dean faces a choice. He can tell Cas the truth, or stick to the status quo.Written for Kinktober 2019 prompts: Begging, Anal, and Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics.





	Like a Wound That's Open

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged with Dead Dove: Do Not Eat because there is no focus or time given to the problematic aspects of A/B/O dynamics and in-heat/in-rut sex. There is no Wincest, but in this AU, it's not uncommon for alpha family members to assist omega family members with heats if/when needed. 
> 
> Tagged with Rape/Non-Con because, although characters consent, they don't have the capacity needed to consent. 
> 
> _Written for Kinktober 2019. Prompt list can be found at https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872._

Dean woke up hot and sweaty and sticky and— 

Oh, God. Sticky… in a not-so-nice place. 

He had really thought this wouldn’t happen again, even though he’d known that it would. He’d just been deluding himself, honestly, pretending that everything was fine. He’d just wanted this to be different. He’d wanted his suppressants to work like they were supposed to for once. 

Ninety-nine (point eight) percent of all omegas never had a suppressant failure. The government not only allowed easy, reasonable access to the suppressants, they were partially aided in funding by the government but carried out in multiple private companies to avoid any one corporation—or government—keeping them from those who needed them. 

Unfortunately for Dean Winchester, he was in the point two percent that had a suppressant failure at some point in their lives. 

And even more unfortunately, he was in the point four percent of that point two percent—which, seriously, must have been just a few thousand people—that were so lucky that they couldn’t get _any _suppressants to work. Even the heavy-duty ones, even the black market ones that every alpha shuddered to think about omegas using. 

Because if there was one thing that alphas were good for, it was worrying over omegas. 

The one good thing for Dean was that he was a male omega, and therefore considerably less precious. 

However, sometimes, that made things so much worse for him. All he wanted was some alpha to come and fawn over him for a few hours, and just let him stop worrying about the hunt he would get behind on. 

Sam snuffled awake a few minutes later in his own bed. 

“They failed again?” he asked, completely unnecessarily. 

Dean just groaned in response. His stomach was already cramping, and he was half sure he’d grabbed the wrong bag from the bunker and didn’t, in fact, have any of his sex supplies. No dildo, no inflatable knot, no lube, or fleshlight, or nipple clamps, or even the soft, satiny panties he favored during his heats. 

They were the only things that didn’t make his sensitive skin feel like it was being ground off with sandpaper. _Coarse _sandpaper. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, tossing the covers off of himself and climbing out of bed, his socked feet—_“Who the fuck sleeps in _socks_, Sammy? What, do you want your feet to sweat all night?”_—shuffling across the cheap shag carpet. 

“If you fuckin’ zap me with some static electricity and bullshit me about how you didn’t _mean to_, I’m gonna shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll look like the omega in heat. For a fucking month.” 

Sam was quiet for a few moments. “I see it’s in full force, then.” 

“Fuck you. Get me my fucking duffle.” 

“Do you want to call off the hunt?” Sam asked, shuffling across the carpet but not touching him, thank fuck. 

“No, I don’t want to fucking call it off,” Dean snapped, “but it’s not like I can question people like this.” 

“I don’t know,” Sam said, and the smirk was _audible._ “I think some alphas would probably appreciate being questioned if it’s by an omega in heat.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean said, but his stomach was cramping and then slick was rushing out of him in a hot slip and he groaned, half from pain, half from pleasure, all from heat. 

“You’ll be okay, Dean.” Sam set down the duffle bag on the bed, unzipping it and wincing as the air cracked and Dean snickered. 

“Told you you’d shock yourself.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Sam said, with no real heat. “I won’t let you get hurt.” 

“What the fuck? Is that some kind of— Sammy, I know I’ve joked, but believe me, I do _not _want your skinny knot in my ass.” 

Sam looked like he’d been forced to eat a turducken burger laced with lemon. “I’m not suggesting that as anything but a last-ditch effort. And it’s not _that _skinny. I mean, I’ve had no _complaints_, but—“ 

“You’re not fucking knotting me,” Dean snarled. “Next fucking plan.” 

“It wasn’t a plan in the first place,” Sam muttered, sounding bitter and dejected, which would normally give Dean pause, but fucking frankly? He was gushing slick out of his literal asshole. He didn’t care whether Sam was a little less than joyful for a couple minutes. 

“Then what’s the fu-_uh_.…” Dean ground involuntarily into the mattress before he got himself under control and stilled his hips. “What’s the fucking plan?” 

Sam was pawing through his bag with an increasingly concerned look on his face. “Well… either you’ve done a great job of hiding your shit from me or you brought Cas’ bag.” 

Sam pulled out an outrageously large fleshlight—the kind that alphas used, and even then, only the alphas with outrageously large dicks. “I assume this isn’t yours?” 

“You caught me,” Dean simpered. “Just love shoving my entire fucking forearm into a motherfucking fleshlight because, hey, nothing gets me wetter than a—“ 

“Dean! I’m trying to help you, for fuck’s sake! Will you just calm down for a minute and let me think?” 

“Oh,” Dean said, and Sam groaned out loud, obviously aware of what Dean was about to say, “you’re so _right_, alpha. Big, strong, _tough _man, aren’t you? And poor, weak little me—I’m suffering, but god, nobody suffers more than the _alphas _when an omega’s in _heat_.” 

“I’m about an inch from stuffing this down your throat,” Sam said. 

Dean gagged—and not even for dramatic effect. “_No_.” 

Sam blinked and then looked _horrified_. “Not my— Oh, my god, Dean! I’m not going to fucking—_rape _you!” 

“You offered two minutes ago!” 

Sam yelped. “Dean, I swear to _God_! It’s a last resort!” 

“Last resort my ass. Get me a fucking Pringles can or a beer bottle or—”

“Or something else that can get lodged up your ass three minutes in? _No_. I’ll give you three choices.” 

“Oh, for the love of fuck, Sammy, I’m not doing the—”

“Number one,” Sam said loudly, “I call Castiel, and he comes down here to keep an eye on you while I run to the store and buy out their dildo selection. Number two, you decide that it’s okay for Cas to see your sex toys—”

“Hard fucking pass.” 

“—and swallow your pride and he brings your bag here. He could also get the toys for you. Or number three, we try to find an alpha—”

“You’re not fucking me, Sammy!” 

“—who _isn’t me _to… take care of this. Can we please try to remember that not only do I really not want to have sex with you, but you’re whacked out on hormones at the moment?” 

“I get it, you know.” Sam groaned loudly. “My ass is irresistible even _out _of heat.” 

“Dean, make a decision or I’ll call Cas and tell him to bring every sex toy in the entire fucking bunker—”

“Number one! Number one! Just—have him come down here and guard the door.” 

Sam sighed, but clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. “Hey, Cas, can you head down here? Something came up. We’re at a Motel 14—the one outside of San Francisco, room 212—”

_Whup-whuff_. 

“Hello, Dean. Sam. Dean, are you all right?” 

Cas took a step forward, brow furrowed tight together, only to rear back a split second later when he caught a whiff of Dean’s scent. 

“Oh, I— Dean, I apologize. I don’t mean to intrude on your personal space. Or—privacy. Sam, is everything all right? Do you need me to take over the hunt in Dean’s place?” 

Sam chewed his lip for a moment. 

Dean was loving this. Really. Great fucking times. The man he’s been in love with for three years and his brother, discussing the best course of action for his heat. 

Just all around awesome. 

“Are you humming Metallica?” Sam asked, turning towards Dean. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snarled. 

Sam turned back to Cas. “So. We’re having a bit of a hiccup.” 

Cas just squinted the tiniest bit. “I assume there’s something I can do to help ease this?” 

“I guess we’ll fucking find out, right?” Dean said. 

Neither of them looked at him—which was probably for the best, because apparently that moment was the best, most ideal time for his ass to really start to slick. 

He kept forgetting how bad it was when he was this wet. How empty he felt—how uselessly _wet_. 

Castiel’s nostrils flared. 

“Dean’s decided that his pride is more important than his health and safety,” Sam was saying, but Dean’s gaze and focus were glued to Cas. “So would you be willing to stick around here for maybe twenty minutes so I can get him some—uh—supplies.” 

To his credit, Sammy didn’t pose it as anything other than a statement. Like, yes, Cas would stay here and make sure Dean didn’t get hurt or put a beer bottle in his asshole. 

“Of course,” Cas said, and, mortifyingly, it went right to Dean’s ass. Not even his fucking dick—which was hard, but mostly decorative at that point—but his ass. 

Dean grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his face before thinking better of it. “Sammy, I’ll need you to come sit on my chest so there’s _really _no chance of me surviving th—“ 

Cas’ hand shot out and grabbed the pillow, jerking it away so fast that Dean’s arms ended up wrapping about themselves in a tangled mess on top of his head. 

“Don’t,” he said dangerously. His eyes flickered between red and blue and Dean swallowed heavily, veins running ice cold instead of boiling hot like they had been until now. 

“Calm down, buddy,” Dean said. “Just makin’ a joke.” 

“It wasn’t a funny joke.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Insult to injury, I tell you.” 

Cas said nothing to that. Which was probably for the best, all things considered. 

Sam let out a deep sigh. Again. 

“Jesus Christ, Sammy, how many times can you sigh in a minute?” 

“Not enough to cope with this,” Sam said. “Dean, I assume that the conversation we had two days ago still stands?” 

“What conversation? Do you seriously expect me to—“ Sam raised his eyebrows and Dean huffed. “Yes, I remember.” 

“Does it still apply?” 

Dean folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Yes. I told you. Always applies.” 

“Then I’ll see you in twenty minutes. _Without _a can of Pring—“ 

“Okay, okay, bye, Sammy!” Dean said quickly. 

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbed the keys to the Impala, and shoved his feet into his boots, not even lacing them. 

“Drive her safe,” Dean yelled as the door slammed behind him. “He’s gonna wreck Baby,” Dean said morosely. 

Cas sat down on Sam’s bed. “Would you like to talk?” 

“About?” 

Cas shrugged. “Whatever you would like to. I’m happy to provide a distraction.” 

“I’m fine, thanks.” And then another wave of cramping hit him hard and Dean flung his arm to the side, grip slipping over the pillow Cas hadn’t stolen before catching roughly on the sheets. He grit his teeth hard, trying to breathe through the pain. 

“Okay,” Dean said, a minute later. “Distract me.” 

Cas seemed to consider that for a moment, choosing the best distraction he could come up with, and then settled on one. “Have I ever told you about when I became an alpha?” 

“Is this a puberty horror story?” 

“Worse,” Cas said, and smiled a little. “When I first fell and took this vessel permanently—it’s now as much a part of my true form as my tail—“ 

“Your _tail_?” 

“Useful for flight navigation. Part of my true form, not the entirety of it.” 

Dean blinked. “Okay.” 

“When I fell,” Castiel said again, and his voice almost seemed to deepen, growing raspier, richer, “I went into rut within just a few hours. Looking back, I wonder if perhaps I immediately entered rut and didn’t perceive it until a few hours later.” 

Okay, so while this was definitely a distraction from the pain, it was orienting most of Dean’s focus towards the thought of _Cas in rut_. 

A great idea, don’t get him wrong, but still. Not necessarily the best idea. 

“Would you mind turning away,” Dean choked out, grabbing one of the thin, flat pillows. 

“I can’t really do that,” Cas said slowly. “I don’t— There could be a hazard. I wouldn’t want to be the reason for your pain or suffering.” 

Dean laughed. “Yeah, except if I don’t get— I— Cas, I have to— I’m gonna be in a lot more pain if you don’t turn around.” 

Castiel’s brow furrowed again as he squinted and then realization dawned over his face. “Oh, you mean— I’m sorry. I understand.” 

Castiel didn’t look away. 

“So you’re gonna… y’know… turn around?” 

Cas blushed and clasped his hands together, fidgeting a little. “I can’t—exactly— No. Not in good conscience. I promise that I won’t ever think less of you, though, Dean. I could never think less of you for having a biological imperative.” 

“Great euphemism,” Dean slurred, but sweat was beading on his brow, and even as he tried to stop his arms from pulling the pillow down under the covers, he couldn’t quite make them do his bidding. 

“You’re okay, Dean,” Cas murmured. 

Dean shook his head hard—or tried, anyway. It didn’t feel like it moved at all. 

“Cas, please,” he ground out. He hoped it sounded enough like _words _that Castiel could understand him. 

“What can I do to help you?” Cas asked, leaning forward like he was about to hang onto Dean’s every word—like he was already on the edge of his seat. 

Literally. 

But then the pillow touched Dean’s dick and Dean was _lost_. 

He shoved two fingers into his hole, grunting as he fucked forwards and back, to the pillow and to his fingers, gulping in air every moment he could manage, trying to slow himself down, make this look less desperate, less disgusting, but he couldn’t manage it. 

“Cas,” he moaned, and turned so red his hole almost felt cold, like all the blood in his body rerouted to make it clear how obviously Dean had fucked up. “Sorry,” he managed, and shoved his fingers in as deep as he could get them. 

Something cool and wet and soft touched his forehead and Dean blinked, trying to focus on what was in front of him. 

On _who _was in front of him. 

Cas wiped his brow again, slower, more carefully this time. “You’re okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Dean. You’re safe.” 

“Cas,” Dean whimpered, flushing further, still unable to stop himself from trying to orgasm. He needed more, and he needed it deeper, and there was a _fucking reason that he used the 12 inch dildos_, the ones that Sam called “terrifying” and “worrisome” and “how does that even fit _anywhere_.” 

“I know,” Cas said, blotting sweat from his cheeks and nose. “I know.” 

“It _hurts_,” Dean whispered, pulling his knees up higher, up to his chest so he could stretch his arm out further to get the angle right. “Cas… Cas, _please_.” 

“It’s okay,” Cas said, and then Dean—and this was the worst part—burst into tears, sobbing as slick dripped out of his asshole, his guts clenched and cramped together, muscles tensing too hard, and all his nerves fired in the most painful ways possible. 

(He liked a little pain with his pleasure sometimes, but _not _during heats. He liked stingy or thuddy pain, not cramping, wringing, grinding, squishing pain.) 

“Cas,” Dean said again, and Cas opened his mouth, but made the tactical error—_finally_—of leaving his hand by Dean’s face and not pulling back. 

Dean grabbed Cas’s wrist and pulled his hand down under the covers—even as his mind screamed to _fucking stop, what the fuck_—to his hole and— 

“Dean,” Cas said warningly, eyes flickering between red and blue again, but steadily growing redder as Dean refused to let up his grip. 

“_Please_,” Dean whispered. 

“You’ll regret this in a few minutes,” Cas said. 

“No, I won’t.” Dean squeezed Cas’ wrist but let him go. 

Cas didn’t move his hand closer or further—just left it there, unmoving. And then he jerked it back, eyes going ice blue again. “I apologize, Dean. Would you like me to call Sam and see whether he’s finishing up?” 

Dean stuffed his fingers back into his hole. “Yeah, yeah, call him. Call him and—and ask him about the conversation from two days ago. Tell him Nietzsche.” 

Cas blinked, but picked up his phone and dialed what Dean prayed was Sam’s number and not emergency services. 

“Sam,” Cas said, and Dean let out a breath of relief, some tension eking out of his muscles before everything cramped up again. “Dean requested that I call you to ask about a conversation from two days ago. He said to tell you Nietzsche.” 

Dean could hear Sam’s faint, tinny voice, but too soon his world narrowed down to where he was ineffectively fucking himself with his fingers. 

“Is that true?” Cas was asking. 

Dean groaned, rolling to his other side to escape the sticky, sweaty prison of the motel duvet. 

“Dean, I need you to answer me. Is what Sam said true?” 

“Dunno,” Dean said, “what’d he say?” 

“That—that you’re in love with me.” 

“Oh, that?” Dean laughed, hysterical as his fingers squelched. “Figured it was obvious. It’s moot, though, isn’t it?” 

“Why is that?” 

“You’d rather I fuck some other alpha.” 

And then Castiel’s eyes _really _went red. 

“Pardon,” Castiel said thinly. 

Dean laughed again. “It’s fine, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I know you’d rather not get your hands dirty in human business, and especially in human _omega _business, so I guess I’d better call Sammy back and get him to find me some alpha.” 

Dean really didn’t mean to say any of that—really—but the fun thing about heats was that sometimes, heat brain would take over. And Dean was just along for the ride. 

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Cas said, voice somehow still calm and unworried. But his nostrils were flared and his arms were trembling and Dean seriously doubted that Cas was going to still sound so calm and impassive five minutes from now. 

Cas would probably be lucky if he lasted _two_. 

Hell, _Dean_ would be lucky if he lasted two minutes. 

Well, no, that wasn’t really true, though. He probably wouldn’t be able to come unless he was full enough, and that wouldn’t happen unless Sam got back with a big enough dildo—which Dean doubted—or. Well. 

If Cas decided that he would take mercy on Dean—take _pity_ on Dean—and shoved his cock up his ass, _deep_ inside of him—

The idea of Cas’ cock in his ass grew so vivid that, despite his worries, Dean suddenly came, shooting off thin, watery come as his ass contracted, squeezing and gripping around his fingers, and he was wet enough that he heard his slick squelching and sloshing as his walls clenched. 

“_Cas_,” he moaned, trying to fuck himself through it, trying to prolong the brief clarity that an orgasm might offer him. “Please.”

“You’re all right, Dean,” Cas said, but his voice sounded _raw_, and Dean blinked blearily up at him and smiled dizzily. Cas was flushed, and he looked uncomfortable. “You’ll be fine. Sam’ll be back soon.”

_No, probably not_. Dean had had Cas warn him that, if he came back to the motel room, he’d be walking into a hell-pit of sex,hormones, and knotting. 

And not with a dildo, either. 

“Cas, _please_. Please, it _hurts_.”

It did. And it did, Dean wasn’t even lying, he was getting more and more desperate—lately his heats had been worsening, more and more, lengthening and growing in intensity. His cramps when he didn’t have something inside of him were getting more and more debilitating, to the point that he’d ended up buying a set of butt plugs he’d taken to wearing around the clock, regardless of sleeping, eating, showering, _urinating_. 

Dean had never been grateful that male omegas didn’t shit during heat until a few heats ago, when he couldn’t bear to go longer than a minute without something deep inside him. 

“Dean, I— This isn’t something that you want.”

“You heard Sammy,” Dean said, starting to hump his fingers again. “I’m in love with you. And that’s not a line either, that’s just me drugged out of my gourd with hormones. I don’t have a filter at the moment. It’s truth serum, Cas. Try me.”

Cas blinked. “Okay. Um… when did you fall in love with me?”

“I saw us together, in the future. The one that—shit, that Zachariah showed me. We were together. You ’n’ me. ‘Cept you weren’t really you, but I still loved you. In the future. And then when I got back, y’know, it’d scared me. We’d changed. Too much, _fuck_. And I didn’t want it to be bad, when we fell in love, and then I realized that it wasn’t, ‘cause I already _was_ in love with you. Oh, so— No, no, I don’t know when it _happened_. I know when I realized it, though.”

Cas stared down at him. 

Dean kept plunging his fingers into his hole. “If you’re really not gonna do this, then give me the phone and let me call Sam back and tell him you’re _not_ gonna fuck me and he _should_ bring me fourteen fucking—”

“You told him to stay away?”

Dean froze mid-thrust. “Um. Maybe.”

Something passed over Castiel’s face, and then he was _launching_ himself at Dean, kissing him and mouthing at him and stripping out of his clothes, fumbling with them, and then he pulled back, a smile on his face, and said, “I forgot I can do this.” 

His clothes were suddenly _all off_ and he was _naked above Dean_, and _oh thank fuck for angel grace_, because Cas was kissing him, hard, and pulling up one of his legs, opening Dean up, and Dean was begging into the kiss, begging for Cas to just _please fuck him_, it _hurt_, and then Cas was pulling Dean’s fingers out of the way and he slid in, bottoming out in one long, brutal stroke, and Dean screamed, scrabbling for purchase _somewhere_, grabbing for any kind of grip, something to hold on to, to feel like he was still anchored, because the _pleasure_ overcoming him was _too fucking much_, but Cas was the only thing to hold on to, and so he just _clutched_ at him, begging softly, almost in tears from how _good_ it felt, and then Cas was shushing him and Dean settled, loosening his death grip on Cas’ shoulders. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“Don’t give it another thought,” Cas said, and then he pulled out and Dean was going to cry but then he slammed back in, fast enough that Dean realized he hadn’t been able to miss his cock’s absence before it was back. “It’s okay, Dean. I’ve got you.”

Dean nodded, gasping for air. He couldn’t even get a word out other than _please_, not even _faster_ or _harder_ or any of his other requests, his other pleas. 

But Cas was _pounding_ into him, strong and hard and fast, and Cas grunted and Dean realized that his knot was popping, and the _thought_ of that being in him, all the way, fully blown, fully expanded, fully _full_—

_Goddamn_. 

“You’re okay,” Cas said, and Dean nodded. And then nodded some more, because it was just—

“I can still stop,” Cas said, and if Dean had thought Cas was probably a virgin before, he was _certain_ of it now. 

Because nobody who had ever fucked an omega in heat genuinely thought it was a good idea to talk about stopping moments before their knot popped. 

Dean, therefore, should not be blamed for what he did next. 

He threw his arms around Cas’ torso, under his armpits, grabbing onto his own forearms, and shoved his legs around Cas’ hips, twisting his legs together and fucking himself onto Cas’ cock as hard as he could, as _fast_ as he could, until Cas couldn’t prevent his knot from popping. 

Cas just moaned, seeming more than okay with this turn of events, but Dean didn’t care, because he wanted the—

Cas’ knot shoved in and it didn’t come back out and Dean ground their hips together, filthy and hard and as fast as he could manage, but it didn’t matter, because Cas was groaning and then he was _coming_, deep in Dean’s ass, and Dean was coming, too, milking Cas’ cock for all it was worth, keeping a tight hold on Cas in case he forced his knot out before he knocked Dean up, and—

_Where the fuck did that come from?_

That didn’t matter, either, apparently, though, because Dean’s muscles went slack a moment later and so did Cas’, collapsing on top of Dean and rolling them to the side, Cas still knotted deep in Dean’s ass. 

Dean came again as Cas’ hips twitched deeper, and, with Cas still coming deep in his ass, fell asleep, _finally_ sated. 

Probably not for long, though. 

###

Sam huffed, shoving his phone into his pocket. 

He turned and headed back to the clerk who had just rang him out. “Hi, I’d like to return these.” 

She frowned. “Really? Do you want to exchange them or—“ 

“Return them. For a refund. If that’s possible.” 

“Okay,” she said. “May I ask why?” She took the bag, though. 

Sam sighed again. “Apparently, they won’t be necessary.” 

“No need to sound so sad about that,” the woman said, winking at him. “Besides, I’d be happy to show you that these are _always _necessary.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. 
> 
> _This work was inspired by @NihilistShiro's Kinktober prompt list, available here: https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872 _


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